


Moments That Stay With Us Forever

by roguefaerie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester Use Their Words, M/M, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Pining, Pre-Stanford Era (Supernatural), Scars, Sleeping in the Impala (Supernatural), Stanford Era (Supernatural), Touch-Starved, eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26971198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguefaerie/pseuds/roguefaerie
Summary: Sam has been researching, and is pretty sure that he understands what Dean is dealing with that summer: Touch starvation. He tries to give Dean everything that he can.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57
Collections: Octobercest 2020!, Small FEAR 2020





	Moments That Stay With Us Forever

1\. It’s summer, and Sam knows where he is going. He also knows down to the mile how far they are from Broken Bow, Nebraska, and how this motel room compares to that one, and that this summer John Winchester has told them to sequester in one room together and not leave for any reason.

Dean has dutifully piled as much vending machine junk together as he can, and there’s a hot plate and a case of ramen this time. But not much else.

Still, Dean will follow the orders. Even if following the orders makes everything worse. All of it.

Sam knows the desperate look in Dean’s eyes that means he never got enough of anything. He can even admit to himself that when he was younger he knew how to pull from Dean so that Dean gave and gave and Sam got what he needed even when they were down to counting pennies they pulled out of couch cushions.

It’s not something he’s proud of, and his heart aches now when he sees that same look in Dean’s eyes, like Sam has a matching hole in his heart that fits exactly what Dean looks like right now.

Panicked.

Dean looks at him like Sam is both the best thing and the worst thing Dean’s ever done in his life and it cuts through Sam like the wind getting knocked out of him. Of course Sam knows it wasn’t that Dean did anything wrong. He was always doing what he needed to do. To survive. Not because he should have had to do it.

Sam was not supposed to be Dean’s responsibility.

But he is, and he realizes as he grows that he doesn’t know how Dean will be without him.

Where they are now (1065 miles from Broken Bow), there’s still time for both of them to find out. 

Sam has always had a plan. He’s pretty good at plans. He’s going to stop the cycle. And that means he’s going to get away. One day soon.

Sam knows there is an end date for him--a threshold that marks when he will take no more.

But right now he can focus on Dean, and what he might need right now. There’s very little else.

He knows Dean doesn’t always have words for what all of this, this life, is doing to him

Maybe Dean counts miles from Broken Bow too.

If he does, Sam doesn’t know for sure.

Of course they don’t talk about it.

But Sam recognizes pain in Dean’s face and tries to give what he can, while he can. Summer beats down hot and thick. The motel room is so quiet it’s eerie, because Dean isn’t going to use words to strike out against John.

When his older brother reaches for him wordlessly and the shine of pain eases out of his gaze, Sam knows that he’s helping.

He knows he’s about to have to face something when it’s them alone together and Dean just reaches for his wrist and his green eyes go soft.

And then come a litany of _I’m sorry_ s and Sammy out of the silence and Sam’s heart breaks.

“Dean, it’s okay. You’re allowed.”

"Sammy I--"

“It shouldn’t be like this, Dean. What do you--.”

And the enormity of the moment slams into Sam. Dean needs everything. Touch, and care, and food when he’s hungry, and Dean’s scared to even--

“This isn’t your fault.”

Anger rushes through Sam, that they’ve been reduced to this, that these four walls are a snapshot of their entire lifetime.

Sam Winchester is going to break the cycle. But he’s not going to deny his brother what he needs.

“Dean. It’s okay to touch me.”

“We--” Dean says, but he stops, and Sam thinks back to all the other quiet times when Dean didn’t even have words and Sam’s blood just keeps boiling hot at what they’ve become.

He has to keep it together, though. This moment, this summer, with this edict from John--all of this is critical. Maybe even to Dean’s survival. Especially to his survival.

“We can, Dean. We’re alone. We’re safe. I promise.”

“Sam, you don’t know what I’d be asking you.”

It’s the most Dean has said all day.

“I know you need me, Dean. And I need you to be okay. So take what you need.”

“Sammy? Are you serious? Are you--okay? Are you-- cursed? Possessed?”

“I promise, Dean. I promise. We’re going to get you through this. One day-- All this-- it won’t be the real boogeyman in your closet, Dean. Let me help you.”

And even though there are two beds in the room Dean crawls into Sam’s and hugs the edge--and Sam’s frame--shaking all night.

*~*~*

Sam starts to connect Dean’s quiet times with the times that the isolation feels the worst for him. And sometimes he pulls the blanket back and gives Dean an expectant look that says, _You need this. We both know you do._

Sam tries to convey to Dean each time that there may not be words for this in this hellishly brown and overly damp motel room with mold in the ceiling, but that Sam sees him. That Sam is prepared to offer what Dean is asking for. Or won’t ask for.

Maybe one day Sam will have to get more insistent. Maybe he’ll tell Dean he’s been googling about these things and they’re not freaks, they were just raised wrong--barely raised at all.

Sam pulls Dean close on the nights Dean gives in, threading their limbs together and pressing in so that as much of Dean is touching Sam as possible.

“Sam I still--”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. You’re my brother and I shouldn’t--”

“Everybody needs something, Dean. You can’t just-- Keep going without forever. That’s what’s gotten you into this mess.” Dean starts shaking, hard enough the bed could start moving under the force of it and all Sam can get out then is, “Okay. Okay, Dean. I’m here.”

*~*~*

There is a certain kind of shame that tints Dean’s eyes slightly darker, and when they sparkle it isn’t with mirth but grief. “Sammy I need to-- but I can’t,” he’ll say, if he has words at all.

Other days, Sam just sees the pain there and murmurs, “I’ve got you. Come closer.”

And Dean does, and on the days Sam doesn’t have to fight Dean over what he needs he’s relieved too.

*~*~*

“Whatever you need, Dean.”

“I shouldn’t-- need-- Sam, no.”

“Our lives shouldn’t be this way at all, Dean. But they are. Take what I’m offering you.” Sam isn’t expecting the rough need in his own voice when he says, “Please.”

“Sammy?”

“Anything, Dean. I just need you to be okay.”

Dean shakes his head. He pulls himself away from Sam and says, “I can’t, I can’t take from you… not this.” But there’s fear in his eyes and he doesn’t go out that night. He stays in the other bed but Sam is awake the whole night, heart beating fast.

*~*~*

Dean can’t look at him for days, and he goes back to near silence. It’s been weeks since they’ve heard from anyone and the fear radiating off of Dean’s body is palpable like it’s creating its own heat in the room.

Dean stays in the other bed and shakes so hard but Sam knows he can’t go near his brother until Dean’s shame calms again.

*~*~*

Every night Sam knows Dean is modulating his own isolation with whatever he can muster on his own, and they just won’t talk about it until Dean’s ready.

But he doesn’t go anywhere. Sam feels the fear building and building each night.

He’s surprised Dean doesn’t just start screaming.

Dean isn’t even hungry when it’s at its worst. Sam brings him back takeout or vending machine food and Dean just--

Until Sam sits on the end of Dean’s bed, ready to stay there until something happens.

“You have to eat.”

“Not hungry.”

“Dean….”

Dean sighs. “Fine.”

Sam wordlessly hands him packets of two crackers from the vending machine. That will at least settle his stomach, keep it from churning too much.

*~*~*

Dean keeps avoiding him, which takes some skill Sam didn’t know Dean had considering they’re trapped in here together.

If anything, though, this just cements for Sam that it’s long past when he was meant to be on his own away from Dad and Dean.

He isn’t used to it, though, the idea that Dean is avoiding him, and it hurts deep in his gut and chest like nothing else has that he can remember. It hurts more than Sam has words for, at least not at first when Dean is pummeling him with sullen silence 

Dean thinks Sam is the best at this but he’s never had to come face to face with his own.

Finally, when Sam brings Dean soup heated on their hot plate he has the words.

“When I said what I said. When I offered you anything. This isn’t what I imagined.”

“Because I can’t, Sam. You know that I shouldn’t be asking you to take care of me. I’m…”

“What if it’s something you need, Dean? We all have needs, not just….”

Sam doesn’t say, “Dad.” He knows that’ll shut Dean down entirely. So he goes silent and waits.

Dean takes a shuddering breath and seems like he’s about to say something, but doesn’t.

“You can come share a bed with me, Dean, if it’s what you need. I know how alone you’ve been. I know you need more. I meant what I said.”

“Sammy, why?”

 _Because it’s probably what you need._ Sam tries to say it without words. He just looks at Dean and wills him to understand. That Sam knows. That Sam will--

It literally has become as simple as that.

In all the times he knows Dean has gone for what he’s needed from a girl, Sam’s never seen the haunted look leave him.

But Dean shakes his head. 

Sam blinks. And he isn’t sure what he expected to happen but it wasn’t--

So he waits for Dean to say the words.

“You’re not going to be able to fix this. You just… you can’t.”

Dean’s tone hints that he believes that’s true. But Sam’s pretty sure he can see something in Dean’s eyes that says he’s the only one who can.

And Dean’s not going to let him. He won’t let this go any farther. Maybe he knows where Sam’s life is going after all.

It’s not long before Sam is out the door without a goodbye or a word about where he’s headed. He won’t stay put because John told him to, and as for Dean-- Even Dean seems afraid of Sam.

*~*~*

Sam and Dean always settle into position with Dean as the big spoon, even though--

Dean needs to be held; Sam has no illusions about that. But he lets Dean get in bed behind him, ever the protector. He’s not here to rip apart Dean’s personal conception of himself. If it’ll get Dean to share a bed with him and take what he needs then Sam supports that fully.

Dean stays as quiet as he can, and Sam eases gently back against Dean so that he experiences as much contact as he can. 

This is how they spend their nights when Dean isn’t afraid. Sam knows Dean holds on tightly enough that Sam’s back might be bruised, especially around the shoulders. There’s nothing wonderful about realizing Dean needs this so much it’s hurting him. It’s definitely not anything people could guess from Dean’s swagger. But the Dean Sam sees this summer is ragged and desperate, holding on with all his might. And Dean is nothing if not formidable, but as the summer continues Sam sees under the outer facade once more. 

Sam thinks about saying anything--whispering Dean’s name or telling him it’s going to be okay, but he decides on silence, and just being there. Slowly they ease together without words, the tightness in their bodies easing out incrementally. Dean allows Sam to ease back against him without pulling away and something eases in Sam’s chest and back. 

There are no words. Sam suddenly realizes he’s as quiet now as Dean has been in these last weeks, and for now he can relish this silence and what it means.

It’s Dean who breaks the silence first, with the barest release of air, but Sam knows that sound, what it means and they both tense. The silence thickens and becomes sharp in Sam’s ears. He’s vigilant. He waits.

And Dean lets go, brings his hands up to push slightly against Sam’s back, as if he’s readying himself to push off of Sam and away, but he doesn’t get farther than the slightest brush of his hands on Sam’s back. He lets out another breath. He lets his body go loose against Sam again, it’s actually looser. He brushes against Sam’s back again and Sam feels him go hard.

The air fills with the sting of shame and Sam can’t tell whose it is, his or Dean’s. 

“Sammy?” Dean asks, like his throat is full and his chest aches, as if Sam’s name doesn’t belong on his lips. 

Sam doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t have words for everything he’s feeling in this moment, holding onto the silence and feeling everything that’s inside of it. But he knows he won’t let Dean feel worse. He knows Dean wants to pull away, how they both do, but here he is with a chance.

So he’s about to take it.

He presses back against Dean, his own chest filling with everything he’s felt since this summer started, their being sequestered, and every worry he’s had about whether Dean would be okay and what his role would be if Dean was or wasn’t. The air is already summer-thick and now it’s overwhelming just to breathe, and Sam may keep his silence for as long as he possibly can because Dean wouldn’t want him to talk now, wouldn’t want to have to answer questions and yet--

Suddenly the only thing Sam wants is--

 _Please_.

Dean is frozen--he has stopped moving, but the pattern of his breath tells Sam that he’s still there, still there, and hasn’t pulled away even if he might want to. He’s stock still but the little catches in his throat are enough.

Sam makes his next movement as long, slow, and deliberate as he can and finally Dean moves too, pulls Sam closer to help their bodies ease back together.

The shame hasn’t left the room. The darkness of it. But Sam is physically _comfortable_ in a way he needs, that he knows Dean needs too.

Sam moves so slowly and deliberately, with no words. He doesn’t want to scare Dean. He presses back against Dean again and Dean lets out a breath again. This time he’s even quieter when he asks, “Sammy?” He takes a breath that sounds thick in his throat. “I told you I shouldn’t--” he says quickly, but he doesn’t move away.

Sam can’t either.

They move in tandem now. 

Dean’s voice cuts through the air, still full of emotion. “I thought you wouldn’t-- Sammy--”

Sam takes the opportunity to turn towards Dean, getting his arms around him so that Dean is cradled against him now. “I would,” Sam finally whispers. “Does it help?”

“God, it feels… it feels like I’m on fire. Y-yes. It helps, Sam.” 

“Do you want more?”

“Can I--?”

“Tell me, Dean. Can you tell me?”

“Just...please.”

“Were you close?” Sam asks, though they both know that Sam knows-- knows so much. Knows enough. “Will you show me?”

“I can’t-- believe-- Sammy--”

“Show me, Dean.”

Dean lets out another heavy breath and starts shaking again, but it’s not the desperate shaking from before, as if he would never get fully warm again. His hand shakes just enough for Sam to be able to feel it as Dean takes Sam’s hand and brings it to cup Dean’s crotch. “Sammy.”

Sam tightens his hand to grip Dean and doesn’t move it beyond that yet. “It’s been miserable without this, hasn’t it.”

“Everything,” Dean says. “Sammy. I’d give you…”

“I know. I know. Let me. Let me now.”

There’s enough light for Sam to be able to see that Dean is flushed, that his eyes are the manic bright of someone who hasn’t been sleeping enough. He leans in and kisses Dean’s shoulder and neck and gently begins to pump. 

Dean’s breath quickens, faster and faster. and it doesn’t take long for him to come.

There they are, facing each other, and Sam takes Dean in his arms and cradles him close against his chest.

Dean presses in toward him and Sam hugs him closer.

“Jesus, Sammy, no. Life, all this, wasn’t supposed to go this way.”

“I know, Dean. But is it better?”

“Don’t let go.”

“You either, Dean. Please.”

Dean is crying and Sam knows that yes, this is probably yet again Sam being too much, but he’ll deal with it if it means he doesn’t have to let go of Dean tonight.

And when Dean’s tears stop--because they do stop--Dean whispers thickly against Sam’s chest, “Yes, Sam. It feels better. Feels-- feels amazing, in some ways. You’re amazing. I--”

“Dean. Okay. Good. Keep breathing. It’s just me right here, okay?”

Maybe that doesn’t make anything better, or worse, but it’s real and it’s true.

“Uh...Sammy? What about you? Are you okay?”

“Dean.”

“Sammy, I’d give you anything.”

Sam blinks back tears that are mostly hidden in the dark. “Uh.”

“Too much. Yeah. I know. I’m too--”

“No, Dean. You’re not. You’re so not. It’s just. Are we okay? Dean? Right now?”

“Sammy I’ve never felt-- that-- before in my life. I’m so okay right now, I can see the moon.”

Sam smiles. “Here. Let me.” And he leans down, and Dean pulls his upper body away from Sam’s just enough to allow freedom of movement for what’s coming..

The kiss is everything Sam didn’t know he was waiting for all summer.

*~*~*

After that they’re nearly frenzied to get as much touch and care as they can under the summer sun. Their father is little more than a memory as they give each other every touch either of them has ever needed. Dean is undone, curling against Sam as soft as a sleepy cat, and just keeps telling Sam over and over again that nothing else has been like this ever in his life. The color comes back to his cheeks and Sam--

Sam has gotten the first kisses, the first touches from Dean that he’s craved all year, whether or not he knows where he’s going, that this isn’t forever. He might not be doing what he should by accepting this from Dean, but he’s wanted to, he’s wanted to, and now Dean touches him with purpose, and Sam’s never seen Dean look at a girl the way Dean looks at him.

Like Sam is everything. And maybe like none of what Dean’s done is a mistake after all.

There are questions Sam is deliberately not going to ask, and he knows without having to be told that Dean won’t ask them either. The relief in Dean’s eyes is enough to tell Sam that absolutely every moment of this has been worth it. That he would do it all again--they both would.

After years hunting together and patching each other’s wounds, Sam knows all the places on Dean’s body. Now he learns how each one of them responds when Sam is touching Dean with more purpose, when Dean is on the edge. There is no one else on earth who will know the meaning of Sam and Dean tracing each other’s scars until they keen.

Dean’s face flushes with life and his eyes are shining in a way Sam knows isn’t just from the mask Dean puts on to talk to civilians, or get one of them into his bed. The summer stretches on with promise, and Sam doesn’t think of their father.

He will gather up every ounce of this that he can and he will help Dean do the same.

The shame shatters and dissipates like so much smoke, relief blooming in its place. Release.

There is no going backwards from this and the shine in Dean’s eyes says he doesn’t want to. Neither does Sam.

*~*~*

Reality comes for Sam quickly. He knows he has a plan, a single-minded goal that he is still going to reach. He will give Dean all of himself that he can before the time comes. 

*~*~*

Sam will memorize these days and nights, carry them with him in his memories forever.

*~*~*

A hunt ends, and a familiar engine settles into the motel lot, and a door slams on Sam’s joy as Dean shutters his face and prepares to go back to being his father’s son.

They don’t talk about this either--too many ways it would hurt. They share a look that makes Sam think that maybe, in the end, Dean will understand when Sam can’t be here anymore.

He barely lets John settle back into their space before he picks up his duffel and heads where he’s meant to be. He’s given Dean everything that he can, but he won’t endanger his brother or their secret in John’s world.

2\. Sam blows in from somewhere out of town like a force of nature.

All she knows when it comes to Sam and his family is that there was a fight and Sam left, that she and Sam would have to be proud of his accomplishment of getting into Stanford on their own because there was no family coming for Sam with accolades for what he had achieved. As for the rest, she knows it would be best to keep quiet about it. Other people probably wondered about the patches of redone stitching on Sam’s clothes, or the way he seemed to come out of nowhere and retreat right back where he came from. Sam wasn’t a legacy student, and of course some people would talk about that. And she wouldn’t be his protector--he didn’t really need a protector in the wider world, and he wouldn’t accept one--but Jess did worry.

It was something to do with alcohol, he had allowed without much lead-up before or decompressing afterwards. 

There was something magnetic about him. Something that just told her he was soft despite everything he had been through, whatever it exactly was, and that she could believe him. That maybe believing him was the most important thing that she could do to help him heal.

Still, sometimes she asks herself, _believe what?_

How much does she really know?

*~*~*

She lets herself take it all in in the moments when she and Sam are close. When he lets her close enough to touch, and when they’re in the dorms and Brady and Becky aren’t anywhere to be found and when she touches him he starts shaking.

That’s something she can know for herself. Something she sees firsthand.

And he doesn’t say anything, but she knows that around the holidays he fiddles with his phone more, running through the contacts over and over with soft clicks and beeps without ever pressing send. There are people he wants to call who he’ll never call.

*~*~*

Sometimes she hears or feels him in bed, squirming, unable to settle. He’s so quiet then, saying nothing, and probably hoping no one says anything back, so she doesn’t ever ask him about it, and she just knows to remind him gently of her place beside him only after he settles. 

She isn’t quite sure how she knows this but whatever has him uneasy in his own bones she knows not to interfere with it. She can only be who she can be when she can be. She never calls attention to his uneasy sounds. She just knows exactly when she fits in against him, curled into his side, and when he’ll lower his hands to touch her hair, to slide his fingers through it and rub her back, and it’s when they’re touching that she feels the last of his uneasiness slip away.

*~*~*

Sam shakes during sex, like he could come apart with the force of the things he wants. It feels like he’s someone who’s barely ever been touched or looked after in his life and now that someone is asking him what he needs he can barely contain everything that that is. Jess aims just to be the first person in Sam’s life to directly ask him, even if it rarely leads to answers in words. 

She gets used to the idea that Sam is coming apart. Like he’s been running from something for so long but he’s finally found shelter even if that shelter means he’s about to hit a brick wall.

She’ll try to keep him from hitting it, but she knows in her heart that she probably can’t, and maybe one day he will hit it and there will be nothing that she can do. 

Some days he lets her touch him like he can never get enough, like the brick wall isn’t coming and this is exactly where he wants to be, and it’s then that Jess can see a future, where somehow he has found healing and she’s by his side. She doesn’t want anything else. It’s Sam who has somewhere else he’d rather be.

*~*~*

At times like these there are no secrets. He can’t hide what’s written in his every movement--whatever had made him tiptoe around like he wasn’t even meant to have a family, whatever made him stop talking to his brother and father. There were things she could piece together easily just from the way he held himself. He wasn’t confident on campus like the kids who came from money. He still patched his own clothes when he didn’t think anyone would catch him. One time she cut her foot on a piece of glass by the sink and she suddenly realized he knew more about wound care than her parents had ever taught her.

And then, after he had patched her up he got a far-away look in his eyes and she started to wonder how many times he’d been beaten and who had done it.

That’s why, by the time someone breaks into her apartment she’s started to disengage more than she ever planned to. She would be scared--and she is, in the back of her head--but there’s also a sudden relief that there will be answers, as she looks at the person Sam says is Dean and thinks, “Oh, it’s you.” She would never say this out loud, but if anyone knows the family secrets he’s standing in her living room now. 

And Sam’s not shaking but she recognizes the look in his eye that means he knows Dean holds all the secrets and all the cards in this moment.

She runs Sam through a few questions. Is he really going to do this?

He’s going to do this. And then she lets him go.

She watches out the window as they approach a black muscle car that must be Dean’s, and as they do Sam settles against the metal as if holding onto a--a family member?--for dear life. And then Dean lets go, eases forward toward Sam like he’s going to let Sam catch him and Jess can’t hear anything that they’re saying but Sam does. He catches Dean.

It’s disconcerting and strange and out of place here, and Jess closes the curtain and tries not to think about it very hard, but she’s going to think about it for the rest of her life.

*~*~*

3\. Dean knows as he drives toward Sam that he’s going to have to make himself heard. He’s not going to be able to depend on just knowing Sam well enough, or even having knowledge of all the things they’ve done in the dark that make Dean ache. That didn’t work before Sam left, in a flurry so soon after their Dad’s unceremonious return. He’s ready to say what he came here to say. Yes, it’s about Dad’s whereabouts now, on the surface, just like Sam leaving was about Dad on the surface too.

But he gets closer and closer to Stanford and he feels the pull of Sam like he hasn’t in years and he hopes-- he hopes despite himself that Sammy is going to hear him.

Then he’s there, and when he sees Sam there’s the same ragged expression in Sam’s eyes that Dean has come to recognize in the mirror. He takes a step toward Sam, just one, when they’re out of the building and on their own, and he doesn’t even have to say anything,

Sam lets him fall against him, into his arms and both of them go loose like they’re both about to fall over.

“Sssh,” Sam whispers, and Dean doesn’t even have the energy to overthink what Sam means by that. He settles against Sam and somehow he knows he doesn’t have to wait anymore. 

And that’s enough.

They’re a hundred miles away from Stanford before either of them says a single word.

It’s Dean who speaks first, his voice rough in his throat. “I can’t feel anything unless it’s with you,” It drops out of his mouth like a stone. 

“Dean--”

“Is this part of why you left? Because-- I was-- It was too much?” Dean says the words, but he inches closer to Sam so that if he keeps going they’ll finally be touching on the bench seat again.

“No. No, that’s not why. And it wasn’t Dad either. I might have made Dad the reason,, but Dean, I was going to leave anyway. I was… I had dreams. Of getting away. They’re good dreams, Dean.”

“I know they are, but...Sammy, I’ve barely been able to feel anything. With anyone. Not anyone. There’s been… women… men… and I can’t… I don’t want anyone else _touching me_ , Sam.”

“I know, Dean. I didn’t want anything from anyone either. That’s why I tried to… offer, but Dean, I still have things I want to be in the world.”  
“It’s my fault, Sam. I can’t let you go. _I_ was-- Sam, I was the one who--”

“You didn’t raise us, Dean. You weren’t supposed to. You weren’t supposed to do any of it. It was never supposed to be like--”

“Sammy, don’t fight now. I can’t do it.”

Sam stops his latest manifesto on how everything they grew up with was wrong. But the set of his mouth says he could keep going.

“Sammy. Wait. Did you say….” Everything looks wrong, like right after someone’s punched Dean in the face and the colors have to come back. Dean pauses and tries to breathe. “You were going to leave anyway?”

“Yeah...I was.” There’s a silence. Then Sam looks over at him. “Shit, man, you look like…”

Dean slows the car a little and looks over at Sam while he does it. Their eyes meet. “Sammy, please. If you were going to leave anyway… Please. Let us… let us have this.”

“You’d still--?”

“I choose you anyway. I’d always choose you. I need this, Sam. I need you and me together in this car.”

It slams into Dean, the enormity of it--this is about Dad, but it isn’t about Dad at all. Dean needs Sam here. Even if there should still be regret hot on his tongue and in every line of his body now, even after Sam’s admission.

Sam huffs out a breath and looks into Dean’s eyes. Dean hopes he finds what he’s looking for there, even if it’s Dean looking like the complete mess he’s been for the last two years.

“It’s all right Dean. Because now we’re here. I’m here with you.”

“I haven’t asked you, the whole two years. I never asked you. I needed-- but I didn’t--”

“I know. You don’t have to ask, Dean, I’m...I’m here. Now I’m here. If you-- still want me to be.”

The Impala is stopped now, pulled onto the shoulder of the road as if on autopilot. 

Dean’s barely breathing under the litany of _please please please_ that’s been too much to bear for weeks already.

“Come on. Let’s…” Sam takes his hand and makes a familiar motion of coaxing him to the back of the car. “Just for a little while. Old time’s sake? I bet it’ll calm your nerves.”

“My body feels…”

“I know. Dean. I think I have it too.”

“You do?”

“I think Jess suspected I did, at least.”

“Sammy...let me help--.”

“No, Dean. Let me help you. Come on. Let’s rest, in the back. Let’s just rest.”

They curl in on each other, practiced in much the same way ever since Sam hit his full height.

Dean lets this happen: Sam gets his arms around him and he finally lets Sam take his full weight against his frame and lets his breathing slow.


End file.
